


/flower that grows in the bottom of shangri-la

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: A Serbian Film - Fandom
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, as sfw as possible cause this is for a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 23:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17631410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: A late night car ride with an old friend.





	/flower that grows in the bottom of shangri-la

It had gotten dark out, but the time was a mystery for Milos. He could only barely remember what he was doing twenty minutes ago, he was unzipped in the alleyway and doing something horrible. His wheels were turning, and he followed them to a place of blooming sin.

Vukmir lit a cigarette.

"You look like death. Want a smoke?"

Milos grunted in response, uncertain how to move his mouth in a way that it would produce words. The radio was playing from the front of Vukmir's limousine, which he could only barely see the front of, as it seemed to extend eternally forward. An ouroboros of a limousine, where the front was touching the back. He wasn't sure what was in that shit he was injected with -- a mixture of heroin, viagra, and some other really dangerous shit, jutted straight into his neck. No wonder he still felt so shit.

Vukmir placed a cigarette on Milos' lip. It promptly fell. Milos drooled like a bloodhound, bleary and stupid. "Just a little more before your paycheck comes."

"Pay...?"

"You did this for money, after all. It'd be..." Vukmir gestured a bit. "Disingenuous to not give you what you came for. Milos, with his powerful erection." Vukmir took his thumb and pressed it onto Milos' lower lip, cocking the littler man's head. (Littler, but not younger. Milos' birth predated Vukmir's by a few years, though not many. Vukmir nonetheless took occasional pleasure in calling Milos 'aging', 'weathered' and 'paunchy' just to make him uncomfortable.) Milos could barely look Vukmir in the eye. "You're really out of it, huh. Do you want a nap?"

"No." Milos didn't trust Vukmir around his dormant body. 

"What, you think I'll eat you?"

"Uh." Milos didn't have any way to process what was being asked of him. And Vukmir was so close, Milos could smell the smoke and whiskey on his breath. And he could taste it. It was disgusting. "Stop." He swallowed roughly, a mouthful of spit.

"Oh, right." Vukmir backed off, adjusting his tie. "We're purely business partners. It's why I haven't fucked you."

"Huh?"

"You act like I've never thought about it." Vukmir took a drag from his cigarette. "You act like you can't tell."

"I wan' go home."

Milos missed his wife and son. He'd had enough, and he'd long since backed out of this project. That was what he thought. That was what everyone thought, really. Vukmir chortled. He had a fatherly laugh. A fatherly appearance. Warm and inviting. Had Milos not known him, why, he'd trust the man as though they'd been friends for years. At the same time, now it was like his laugh lasted just a moment too long, and his smile was just a little too forced.

"Nonsense. You're my star. A  _shining_ one."

Milos felt nauseous. "Just relax. What kind of music do you like?" Milos blinked, slowly. What music did he like? He'd been into Nirvana back when that was cool. He didn't listen to much music, other than that kiddie shit his son liked. Vukmir didn't wait for him to answer, anyhow. "I love jazz. A good jazz tune can be backing for anything. You could make me kill my firstborn if a jazz tune was playing."

Vukmir rubbed a hand on Milos' face. "Dear me, there's blood clung to your stubble. I also love those orchestral pieces." Milos tried to spit on Vukmir's hand, but it came out more like he was spewing bubbles of saliva like an infant. Vukmir cocked a small grin. "Those ones that swell so big that the conductor throws his arms out. The kinds that... that  _deafen you!_ "

Out of nowhere, Vukmir clapped his hands violently over Milos' ears. Milos shrieked like a dog that had just been stabbed, and his brain seemed to rock inside of his head. It hurt, a lot. His ears were ringing... Vukmir laughed, this time more of a hyena laugh, a laugh that could only come after you did something bad, as Milos felt temporarily blinded, grabbing weakly at his temples. "Just like that, right there Milos! It feels just like that."

"Motherfucker..."

"I love your voice when you swear."

Milos shut his eyes, and in the pit of paradise, Shangri-La, a flower bloomed.


End file.
